Lungs
by Zet Sway
Summary: He's learning how to breathe again. Every day is a struggle to come to terms with his now ever-changing condition of healing and hurting and healing again. Thane/FShep. Oneshot.


There's not enough steamy Shrios on the internet. Thane just really turns me on okay ;-;

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The first days after the operation are painful. He comes to in the recovery room, oxygen in his nose making his nostrils burn. His breaths are shallow and quick and every inhale makes his chest feel painfully tight. Shepard sits at his bedside and it's difficult to smile at her through the weakness and pain.

The weeks that follow are difficult - he's learning how to breathe again. There's therapy and medication and more therapy.

He thinks maybe he'll never breathe correctly again after all, that maybe his new lungs just aren't enough to compensate for the damage done to his body over the years. Every day is a struggle to come to terms with his now ever-changing condition of healing and hurting and healing again.

There are small things, though. Things that remind him how his life has changed.

When Shepard comes to bed one night, he takes notice of her learned gentleness. Out of habit, she takes care not to put too much pressure on his lungs - her head comes to rest on his shoulder, her arm drapes low across his waist. He wonders how long she's done this, how comfortable she is or isn't - how good she would feel drawn _properly _against him. He shifts - moves his arm around her, resettling her head against his chest and her arm over his belly.

She looks up at him with concern in her eyes and he banishes her fears with a smile. Little things, he thinks. Holding her that much closer makes his struggles easier to bear, if only for that moment.

Gentle fingers brush his chest, tracing the thin scar along his breastbone where his scales don't sit quite right anymore. Her touch is featherlight and tentative and he sighs quietly in contentment - oxygen rushing into his lungs as they swell with a strength that once belonged to someone else. He doesn't think about that though, not tonight, as she presses a soft kiss against his scales.

He feels her shift against him, and now that his mind is here - with her and nowhere else - he's hyperaware of the pressure of her body beside him. Her warmth seeps into him and steadily heats the blood in his veins. His tired mind stirs into wakefulness and he curls into her, hands roaming her arms, her back, her shoulders - anything he can reach until he feels her stirring too, as he smooths one hand down her side and his fingers brush her belly.

"Something you want, lover?" she says tiredly, but not without the smallest hint of desire.

"Anything you're willing to give, Siha," he whispers into her hair, "and nothing that you aren't." It's been weeks since they made love and he's hardly had the energy for such endeavors, but he feels now like rolling thunder from an approaching storm.

She laughs softly, raising her head to his as she makes sure to tell him that it'll be a cold day in hell when she's not willing to give him _this_. He kisses her and it feels like the first kiss of his life - her lips are warm and soft and he soothes them apart with his tongue, opening her mouth and breathing the same air she breathes, the same way she breathes it. For the first time in too long he shares her kiss without parting for breath, without struggling to inhale as she leans her weight against his chest.

He feels suddenly _very _awake as the realization dawns on him that this time will be different. _This time _will be everything they've ever wanted and all the years he spent battling his disease seem like someone else's memory now as his hands roam her body, slipping under her camisole and dragging it up.

Her bare skin feels warmer than it should be, and when he finally finishes disrobing her, it's like she's a fire ready to engulf him. He bathes in her heat, pulling himself over her to rest between her strong thighs. She pushes at his shorts and he fumbles out of them, eagerly pressing his arousal against the dizzying warmth of her sex. Her answering groan resounds in his head and again through his body when she pulls him down and mouths at the bloodwarmed, sensitive skin on his neck. He answers her eagerly and they begin to rock together.

It's not quite sex just yet, but it feels so god damn good that neither wants to pull away for the second she would need to take him into her heat. His hands hold her hips and she folds her legs around him and at last, they connect. She moans, long and low, as he pushes into her body and his head reels. Chills rush down his spine. He sighs out a moan that tightens in his throat like his fingers on her thighs.

His eyes ease shut. He honestly doesn't think sex has ever felt this good and he can't believe they've only just gotten started - tossing foreplay to the wind in favor of this spontaneity they both need. His thoughts rush through comparisons that have by now become second nature. As his lungs fill and empty in a silent gasp of pleasure, he knows no memory can compare.

And now seems as good a time as any to put his new lungs to some practical use. Abruptly, he withdraws and coaxes her on to her knees. She says something, in that coy tone he's come to love, about him being eager to please tonight. She couldn't be more accurate. He pushes into her and he can tell from her vocal reaction that the new angle feels beyond good.

He's steady at first, feeling the quiet burn in his thighs as he picks up speed until he's snapping his hips against her and his realm of awareness shrinks down to the sound of her breathy vocals and the muffled thudding of scales against skin. He burns for her, thinking maybe he's being too rough and maybe he should slow down but knowing he couldn't if he wanted to. She screams his name; shaky fingertips fumble at their joining and he pushes her hand away, gathering her wetness and gliding the pads of his fingers over the swollen head of her pleasure.

Her body contorts as she comes undone at his hand, and he feels the familiar heat of release coiling in his belly. He sucks down rapid breaths with the effort it takes to maintain his pace and the wisp of a burn in his chest is the last thing on his mind when the last threads binding him to this plane of reality finally snap, unwinding, fraying at the edges. He empties himself inside her and sags, releasing his bruising grip on her hips before lying beside her.

It doesn't make any sense, he thinks, that new lungs should make sex any more pleasurable than it was before. Easier, yes, but _better_? It's got to be the oxygen. He can nearly feel it, slowing as he catches his breath. He feels so _alive _and he recalls her gentle voice in a memory that overtakes him behind his closed eyes - _"Be alive with me."_

When he breaks from his reverie moments later, his eyes blink open and he searches for her face, smiling down at him tiredly. For all he's been through and all of his hardships, as he inhales another deep, satisfying breath, he knows one thing:

It was worth it.

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Thank you for reading!


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